


Highest Fall You'll Ever Grace

by UchiHime



Series: Icarus [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Can be read as a stand alone, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 18:32:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5059558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UchiHime/pseuds/UchiHime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Riley are chosen to fly a special mission with a special person.</p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>The three of them danced together, shirtless and barefoot and sweaty from drink and fire. Riley’s familiar beta scent filled Sam’s nose, underlined by the softer omega scent of the man between them and there was a feeling of wholeness in Sam that made him feel higher than his wings had ever taken him.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	Highest Fall You'll Ever Grace

**Author's Note:**

> I blatantly stole the dick joke Sam and Riley make from the movie The Hurt Locker. I'm not even gonna pretend I'm smart enough to come up with something on my own. Also, the picture I use for Riley in the little picspam/procrastination-cover is also from The Hurt Locker, it's Brian Geraghty, the guy who plays the third member on the team with Anthony Mackie and Jeremy Renner, so it was too convenient to pass up.
> 
> There is a very _very_ slim chance that I will add more chapters to this later. So slim that it probably won't happen at all.
> 
> Also, I'm sorry that the one-sentence summary sucks to much, my brain is fried.

Riley got his attention by jabbing his elbow into Sam’s side and nodding his head towards the other side of the camp. “Who’s that talking to Cookie?” Sam winced and rubbed his side where Riley’s too sharp elbow had pressed. He looked towards where Riley had indicated and had to squint his eyes against the glare of the sun. A Humvee had rolled into camp while Sam wasn’t looking and their CO, Major Cook, was standing beside it talking to two men in civilian clothes.

“Don’t know,” Sam answered Riley’s question, turning his attention back to book he’d been reading before Riley had interrupted him.

“Why you think they here?” Riley asked, still staring in their direction. Sam glanced up from his book and shot another look towards the new arrivals, Cook was now leading the two visitors into his tent and away from the prying eyes of the rest of camp. Sam understood Riley’s curiosity. Their camp didn’t receive many visitors, being that they were a secret squad and all. Usually it was only the eight of them: the seven EXO members and Cookie giving the orders. Colonel Rhodes and T’challa dropped in on a few occasions, but they hadn’t been with the team fulltime since the initial training was completed.

“Maybe they’re top brass?”

“They didn’t look like brass,” Riley said, but before he could say anything more, Cookie stuck his head out of the tent and yelled for them.

“Falcon, Redwing, get in here.”

Sam and Riley shared a look and a shrug. A few feet from them a couple of their teammates, codenames Osprey and Buzzard but usually referred to as Oz and Buzz, let out a teasing “oh, y’all in trouble” and “what did you two do this time?”

Sam casually flipped them off while Riley kicked sand in their direction and stuck out his tongue. Obviously they were all very mature adults. Sam and Riley bumped shoulders as they made their way toward Cook’s tent, Sam barely noticed they’d done so. He and Riley were accustomed to slipping in and out of each other’s personal space, side-effects of being partners and lovers.

Lovers. That’s something Sam hadn’t expected. He’d thought Riley a kid when they first met. Despite being only a couple years younger than Sam, Riley had been so bright eyed and energetic and so damn optimistic, Sam had wanted only to protect him from all the horrors of the world. But somewhere wanting to protect him had turned into just wanting him. Sam thanked god every day that Riley wanted him, too.

Sam glanced at his partner out the corner of his eye. Riley’s fair hair took on a ginger hue in the sunlight and the strongest sunscreen in the country wasn’t enough to keep his freckled face from turning red after too long without shade. There was a constant smile on his face. He was beautiful.

Riley turned and caught Sam’s gaze on him. He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow in question. Sam just smiled at him and Riley let out an amused huff accompanied by a roll of his eyes. Their fingers lightly brushed together as they stepped inside Cookie’s tent.

“Bout damn time,” Cookie said as if it had been more than forty-five seconds since he’d called them.

“Sir,” Riley and Sam said in unison, standing at attention. They usually weren’t too hung up on formalities around the EXO camp, but when there were visitors around, it paid to act as if they knew how to be proper soldiers.

“At ease,” Cook said with a flippant wave of his hand. Sam relaxed instantly and let his eyes drift over the strangers in the tent. One of the visitors was a least a decade older than Sam, with a receding hairline, and a neat black suit. Sam would have felt bad for him, given the desert heat and the dark clothing, but the man was not even sweating. He held himself straight and proper, though he made the perfect posture look lethal.

The other man looked severely underdressed in comparison: tee-shit, Bermuda shorts, flip flops, and a pair of sunglasses. The image of a vacationing tourist came to mind. He was slouched in one corner of the tent, with his (quite impressive) arms crossed over his chest and a bored look on his face.

Instinctively, Sam subtly scented the air. Riley’s familiar beta smell was the first thing to reach his nose, followed by Cookie’s alpha musk, but that was all. Both of the guests were apparently wearing scent suppressors. Most people would assume that meant the men were either omegas or alpha, but Sam knew of betas who used suppressors for various reasons the least of which was causing that very assumption.

“These are my best boys,” Cook told the visiting men. “If anyone can do what you need, it’ll be these two.”

The older man looked them over carefully, though he revealed nothing of what he was thinking on his face. He turned back to Cook and said, “To be honest, I’m not sure how any of you will be of help to me. I came here because I was ordered to, but I don’t need pilots or parajumpers. Bringing choppers into the area would be too big of a risk, and if we were going to go with a stealth shoot, there’s no one better qualified than the gentlemen behind me.  I’m sure your… _boys_ , are the best to Air Force has to offer, but excuse me if I’m not convinced of their usefulness.”

Sam couldn’t help but smirk, but before he could speak, the other stranger forward. “They’re not pilots,” he said, taking off his sunglasses. “Isolated tent-temporary base, no choppers on site, small team size, and codenames? No, they’re definitely not standard PJs.”

Cookie cackled. “Your boy there is smart. You should listen to him.”

“You tell us what needs doing and we’ll tell you whether or not we’re able to help,” Riley said in a tone more cocky than it needed to be.

**... **

It was actually a pretty simple mission: someone important was trapped behind enemy lines, someone dangerous needed to be taken down. Sam and Riley would fly the younger of the visiting men (they hadn’t been given names, instead they were told to call the guy “the specialist”) into area. Specialist would handle the big bad while Sam and Riley took care of the rescue part. Then the four of them would fly out.

They’d driven away from base camp in the Humvee that had brought the strangers to camp. They parked the Humvee in a deserted location and concealed it as best they could, before donning their wing packs. They were a little over halfway between camp and their destination.

“What’s taking you so long, Falcon?” Riley’s voice came over the comm line, he was a few feet away from Sam and ready to take to the sky. Sam was the one who would be carrying the specialist in, and since it would be a long flight and they weren’t in any immediate rush, there was time to put a proper passenger harness on the man. He was, unfortunately, having trouble getting the buckles of the harness to cooperate.

“I can’t get it in,” Sam said.

“Can’t get it in?” Riley repeated. “Pretend it’s your dick.”

Sam let out an amused snort. “How about I pretend it’s your dick instead?”

“You’d never get it in then.”

This time the snort came from the third person on their comm line. Sam’s hands stilled on the buckles as he looked at the specialist, the man not even trying to hide him amusement. Sam smiled at him. “Beta’s these days,” he joked, “no respect for their alphas.” He finally got the stubborn buckle fastened properly.

The man had changed out of his touristy clothes for a black on black ensemble that left his well-muscled biceps bare. He wore flight goggles and carried a case Sam assumed held his dismantled sniper rifle. Sam had gotten a proper lungful of his scent while attaching the harness, and could now say for certain that he was an omega, given that he’d sweated through his suppressors in the heat of the desert sun. He gave the buckle a tug to make sure it was secure.

“You’re hardly an alpha,” Riley said. He liked to tease that Sam was a headstrong omega masquerading as an alpha because of his dual dynamics.

“Alpha enough for your skinny ass.” Sam quipped back.

“Alpha enough to get me wet,” the specialist said at the same time.

There was a moment of shocked silence, and then Riley was laughing hard enough to be heard out loud and over the comm. Sam chuckled as well, but he face was hot with embarrassment. “Is that an offer, specialist?” He accompanied the words with his best come-hither look.

Sam had to walk behind the other man and press himself up against his back to get the passenger harness attached to his wing suit. Usually, he would attach them face to face, but the specialist had requested to be held in a way that allowed him to see ahead of them. “That depends on whether that’s a gun in your pocket or if you’re just happy to see me.”

Riley laughed louder and someone cleared their throat before Sam could respond. “Just a reminder that you’re not the only three on the line,” Cookie said. “Save your flirting for after you get the job done.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Sam and Riley chorused.

“Ready to fly?” Sam asked once he was satisfied with the how the harness was attached.

“Born ready,” Riley answered. He took and running start and launched himself into the air, letting out a whoop of joy as the flight suit enabled and carried him higher.

Sam loved flying. For as long as he could remember, he’d been crazy about birds and dreamed of sprouting wings and taking to the air with them, but if there was anyone who could claim to love flying more than Sam, it was Riley. He really was born for it. On the ground, Riley could be a bit klutzy and tended to trip over his own limbs, but in the sky he was nothing but grace and glee.

Sam turned on his suit’s jets. With the extra force needed to do a vertical stationary takeoff with two passengers, it took longer to get airborne, but soon he and the Specialist had joined Riley in the sky. He flew an unsteady circle to get used to the added weight of his passenger, but it was only a moment until they were flying off towards their destination, the heads-up display inside their flight goggles steering them in the right direction.

** … **

“What’s your location?”

“Leave him,” the Specialist’s handler ordered.

“Not an option,” Sam stated. The first part of the mission had gone off without a hitch: they’d gotten into the enemy’s encampment, the Specialist had created a distraction while Sam and Riley recovered the prisoner, they’d gotten the prisoner away from the camp and to a secure location, and Sam had left Riley there to provide whatever field medical treatment needed to make the long flight back safe, while Sam returned to the enemy camp to retrieve the Specialist.

But, apparently while Sam and RJ was securing their charge, the Specialist had decided he needed a more up close meeting with the hostiles and had been captured.

“That wasn’t a suggestion,” the voice of the Handler was hard and commanding over the comm link.  “I don’t make suggestions; I give orders. If I say leave him, then that’s what you do. Focus on your primary mission: retrieving our operative. The Specialist can handle himself.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Riley cut in, “that’s not what we do. We’re not in the business of leaving men in hostile territory.”

“Major Cook, do your boys not know how to follow simple orders?”

“They follow the orders they deem appropriate to follow,” Cookie’s voiced was full of amused pride. “You forget that before EXO, these boys were pararescuemen, emphasis on the _rescue_. We PJs got a creed.”

“That others may live,” Sam and RJ recited at once.

“And nothing will make us abandon that creed, like nothing short of certain death will make us abandon a man.”

There was a low huff, lightly tinted with amusement, heard from the Specialist. He’d been silent since his capture except to give the code word letting them know it happened. “Alright Flyboy, if you’re going to insist on running to my rescue, can you at least grab my bow first?”

…

“A bow and arrow though,” Riley said, still not over that part, though at this point he was more than a little intoxicated from the bottle of bourbon they were passing around. “That’s so fucking medieval.”

“Fucking prehistoric,” Buzz slurred.

The Specialist gave a careless shrug. “Paleolithic actually. I looked it up.” Sam knew for certain that the Specialist had drunk just as much as the rest of them, but he seemed to be holding the liquor a lot better.

“Paleo… whatsit?” Riley was slumped against Sam’s side, unconsciously nuzzling his nose against the side of Sam’s neck where his _alpha_ scent was strongest. He was an affectionate person by nature, but that turned up times ten when you got a little liquor in him.

“Early stone age,” Oz clarified, taking a long sip from the bourbon bottle before passing it to Sparrow. Osprey and Sparrow were the only females on the EXO team and they couldn’t be any more different. Oz was tall and butch with short sun bleached hair and a wicked sense of humor. Sparrow was small and soft with long dark hair and a fiery personality.

Oz was incredibly smart and Sam had long ago stopped wondering how she knew things. Sparrow was the best flier on the team, though Sam was a close second when it came to trick flying and Riley could sometimes match her in speed. Oz and Buzz were partners, sometimes joined by Cookie on the rare occasions he took to the sky. Sparrow was teamed with Vulture and Eagle, while Sam and Riley stuck together.

Like Osprey had become “Oz”, and Buzzard “Buzz”, Sparrow had originally been “Sparrowhawk” until the lazy soldiers had shortened it. Riley’s codename had originally been Red Kite, but he’d constantly complained that it made him think of a toy kite and not the bird kite, so an annoyed Vulture had taken to calling him Redwing and it had stuck. The codenames originally had all been used when there was an ‘outsider’ in the camp, but they’d fallen into the habit of using them all the time.

“Enough about my bow,” the Specialist said. “Y’all got fucking jet packs. How cool is that?”

“Wing packs,” the entire team corrected as one.

“Wing packs,” the Specialist repeated. “Still cool as hell.” He had a serious case of resting bitch face, but his tone was that of a little kid on Christmas. Sam couldn’t help but smile at him.

They had a camp fire going, a minor luxury to help them through the cold desert nights, but they’d all (even the girls) stripped out of their shirts when the alcohol started heating them from the inside. After another pass around with the bottle, Eagle pulled out his harmonica and started playing a lively tune.

Riley perked up immediately. “Dance with me Falcon.” He grabbed Sam’s arm and tugged him to his feet, not taking no for an answer. Sam laughed, but allowed himself to be pulled up. Dancing with Riley was an experience. He had a lot of energy, but absolutely no rhythm. Sam, Eagle, and Buzz often joked that there wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to teach that white boy how to dance.

At the sound of low laughter, Sam turned and found the Specialist trying to hide a smile behind the mouth of the bourbon bottle. “What was that, Specialist?” Sam teased, “You wanna dance with me, too? Well, all you had to do was ask.” He grabbed the archer’s hand before he could put up a complaint. Eagle let out a loud laugh as the Specialist stumbled over his own feet and then settled on the frat-boy sway as an acceptable dance.

Sam laughed as well and when Eagle resumed his playing, Sam sidled up closer to the Specialist. Brown eyes locked on grey ones, Sam placed his hands on the man’s hips and used his own body to coax him into moving in time with the music. Riley, not to be left out, pressed himself against the Specialist back and moved to his own beat, earning an amused smile from Sam. The Specialist smiled as well, softening the lines of his chronic resting bitch face. He place calloused hands on Sam’s shoulders and leaned into Riley’s arms.

The three of them danced together, shirtless and barefoot and sweaty from drink and fire. Riley’s familiar beta scent filled Sam’s nose, underlined by the softer omega scent of the man between them and there was a feeling of wholeness in Sam that made him feel higher than his wings had ever taken him.

…

The Specialist and his handler were gone by morning. Sam was sure they’d never be seen again, but that was to be expected. “Too bad though,” Riley said, “I kinda like him. The Handler had a stick up his ass, but that Specialist was okay enough.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, pulling his wing pack into his lap to start on the post-op maintenance they’d neglected the night before. “He was pretty okay.”

Six weeks later, the team is finishing their morning run when Riley gets his attention by jabbing an elbow into Sam’s side and nodding his head towards the other side of camp. “Look who’s over there talking to Cookie.” Sam looks across camp and finds a familiar figure in Bermuda shorts and sunglasses standing with another familiar man in a suit.

Sam smiles and the Specialist smiles back.

 


End file.
